


At the End of a Chain

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Lovers, Keyholder, Kinktober 2020, M/M, No Anathema doesn't find out Crowley wears one, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), a little innuendo at the end, actually very sweet to begin with, just the ramblings of an ineffable bdsm expert, mention of chastity device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26956495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: The watch chain on Aziraphale's waistcoat isn't attached to a watch at all, but to something far more precious to both him and Crowley ...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Kinktober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961338
Comments: 13
Kudos: 86





	At the End of a Chain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Keyholder'.

“Mr. Fell?” Anathema calls from the desk she hijacked after she’d arrived at his bookshop begging to see an old text to confirm the veracity of some herb names, crosschecking them against her own equally antique, handwritten tome that, according to the tales she’d been relaying to him over tea, she’d been on the quest to translate since she was a teenager. She’d set that task aside in frustration some time ago, but after meeting Aziraphale and discovering his wealth of books on herbology, she had taken it up again, this time with resounding success.

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale replied, walking into the room with a fresh cup of tea and a plate of biscuits for Ms. Device, to keep up her strength. Normally Aziraphale wouldn’t be so fond of visitors, but Anathema shares his voracious love of research, she is as careful with his books as he is, and she never asks to buy nor remove anything.

He has become immensely fond of her.

“Could you give me the time? Seems my cell phone battery died and my watch has stopped.”

“Yes, that does tend to happen in here,” he mutters, setting the biscuits and tea down and reaching into his pocket for his watch, silently scolding the spirits that inhabit his shop. He has spent so long prompting them to mess with lookie-loos and other browsers, but he’d specifically prohibited them from bothering Ms. Anathema.

Seems like they have yet to learn to abide by that rule.

He flips open the cover and peers at the face.

“It is five-o-six, my dear.”

Aziraphale closes the lid and sticks the watch back in his pocket, concern wrinkling his brow when he catches Anathema staring, perplexed, at his waistcoat.

“Is there something the matter?” he asks, subconsciously patting himself down. “Do I have a stain or something?”

“No, no!” she says, catching herself. “It’s just that I thought your pocket watch was attached to that chain.” She gestures with her index finger to the gold chain on Aziraphale’s person, one end fastened to the hole of his second waistcoat button, the other tucked inside the narrow pocket where his watch resides, but apparently not clasped to it.

“Oh no, my dear,” Aziraphale says, his hand covering the pocket lovingly. “I use this chain for a different purpose entirely. It is attached to my most precious possession. I keep it on me always so that I will never lose it.”

“Oh!” Anathema’s eyes dart back to Aziraphale’s hand protectively caressing the pocket, her curiosity piqued. “Is it something you brought with you from Heaven? A Holy relic?” She doesn’t want to pry too deeply in case that chain is connected to something that would be dangerous for mortals to know about - even witch mortals.

“No, it’s nothing of that nature,” Aziraphale says with a chuckle. “It’s a personal, sentimental thing …” He sighs “… but it means the world to me.”

Anathema returns his soft, nostalgic sigh. She completely understands his meaning, and why he might not want to show it to her. She has a dozen or so mementos that she holds dear, things that other people might not understand - a ring that was her mother’s (nothing fancy - something that she fished out of a Cracker Jack box when she was eight), a lock of her grandmother’s hair, a corner of parchment from the first (failed) spell she ever concocted on her own (which is why she only has the corner left … it failed _big_ time), a pressed rose petal from the first bouquet Newt ever gave her (she’d dried the rest and saved them for her conjuring), and so on.

Anathema bites her lower lip, imagining that whatever Aziraphale has latched to the end of that chain, Crowley must have given him. A ring perhaps? Seeing as they are an angel and a demon, Crowley giving Aziraphale a ring might be something he’d have to keep secret.

 _Whatever it is, it must be terribly_ _romantic_ …

Aziraphale knows he’s lost her when she sighs a second time and returns to her work forgetting all about re-setting her watch. He leaves her to it, and to her daydreaming, and retreats to his back room, his comfy sofa, his tumbler of cognac, his book, and his husband, standing right beside it all, grinning like the cat who has found the cream unlidded and tipped, ready for lapping.

 _“Your most precious possession?”_ Crowley purrs as Aziraphale takes his seat and picks up his book, going back to where he had left off. “Did I hear you right?”

“You did,” Aziraphale replies, eyes glued to the page, refusing to entertain his ridiculous husband.

“So does that mean you’ll be lettin’ me out to play anytime soon?” Crowley bumps Aziraphale with his crotch. The metal cage surrounding his cock, concealed inside a slightly looser pair of trousers, knocks against Aziraphale’s arm.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and slides an inch to his left, shaking off his husband’s advances. “When you behave like that … highly unlikely.”


End file.
